It’s been a year since my last post. Like, to the day.
I’ve been debating whether or not to start up again. Well, actually, for nearly the whole year. Today, there was a sign. Or, I took it as one.
I mean what are you supposed to do when a bouquet of daffodils flies over your house? Seriously. What would you have done?
This was the final balloon classic in Colorado Springs. Shortly after this beauty flew north past my house, it was caught in a change of current that took it west. Then I watched it descend, most likely landing in a parking lot a few blocks away. I don’t know if these are signs, as well. We should know in time.
Posted in gardenhood, gardening life | Tagged balloons, home, questions, reflections, time, wind | 17 Comments »
The warmth and colors of summer linger.
Summer’s professional wardrobe. Fresh from the line. The clothes line, that is.
Kale salad with caramelized grapes and onions, walnuts, yams, and feta. Inspired by Nancy W, who was inspired by Martha (THE Martha).
The first tomato. Indian Stripe. Perfection.
The last daylily.
Labor Day weekend balloon festival. Right over the gardenhood.
A mandala. Drawn by Nancy H. (One can never have too many Nancies in her life).
This drawing represents my spirit’s calling into a whole new realm of gardening. Assisting in the creation of sacred space. In lives. In landscapes. For Earth’s sake.
The lingering warmth and colors of summer calling me all the way home.
Posted in Environment, gardenhood, life as garden, photo essay, transformation | Tagged color, earth, sacred space, summer | 5 Comments »
photo by Levi Chavez
You know you’re a gardener when the caption to a photo on the AOL news roll says something about a naked woman in the pool, and all you notice are the black plastic pots and hand trowel in the lower left hand corner.
Can you tell a good “you know you’re a gardener” on yourself?
Posted in gardenhood, gardening life | Tagged garden humor, gardening, swimming | 4 Comments »
In the evening, neighbors with strollers and pups on leashes come round the flat corner lot drenched in perfume.
The honey locusts are blooming. Tiny, round, olive green flowers high in their lofty crowns so sweetly scented, I could swoon.
Closer to earth, the rugged iris have cheered onlookers for a couple of weeks. When I was a kid, one of my guilty pleasures was sticking a wet finger into Kool-Aid mixed with sugar and popping said finger back into my mouth. It’s a memory evoked by the scent of iris.
Inside the chainlink fence, three varieties of tall, bearded iris share the throne: Iris varieagta with her golden swords and grapey perfume; “Pagan Goddess” peachy, prolific, and subtly scented; and an unnamed variety from Deb’s garden, streaked with rootbeer and smelling of vanilla.
Even closer to the earth, a bouquet of cloven pinks flirts with the golden leaves of Cotinus. Sassy devils.
While perched on the corner of the rock garden, the bluest penstemon reigns with a stately aura, wafting a soft tanginess somewhere between fresh mown hay and sorel. Hers I would wear dabbed behind ears and in the hollow of my elbows as I drift off to dreamland.
There to dream of meeting someone as primitive, as sophisticated, and as cleanly scented as a tree peony, but much less ephemeral.
Posted in garden writing, gardenhood, photo essay, Uncategorized | Tagged dreams, honey locust, iris, penstemon, pinks, scent, summer, tree peonies | 6 Comments »
I haven’t even ten minutes to write. It’s Manic, I mean May.
I so wanted to do a post on one of my favorite flowers, but ran out of time to research.
Please, however, read this!
Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments »
Oh, and the best part: A predicted low tonight of 20 degrees.
Posted in gardenhood, gardening life, photo essay | Tagged cold, sharing meals, snow, spring, weather | 21 Comments »
Tuesday’s stom was so fierce, even the dandelions, snug to the ground, were blackened.
Roaring winds. Single digit lows. A mere spattering of snow. Tulipa kaufmanniana ‘The First’, filled with bees on Monday, could not bow down far enough.
Tight-fisted buds on the Carol Mackie daphne, crisped. Hyacinths blasted.
The front door tulips? Not likely this year.
Then, yesterday, new signs. Rhubarb keeps on trying.
Narcissus ‘Itzim’ and chionodoxia bloom together.
And this morning, before sunrise, rain. Enough to leave puddles.
Enough to leave a sip in the birdbath.
I couldn’t wait to go out and smell the air. I threw on a hoodie over my pj’s and dug into the earth with bare fingers just to make sure it was real. Even in the driest part of the parking median, the earth was perfectly moist.
Birds are rioting.
The mourning doves have returned.
The front door tulips have been kissed. All is forgiven.
Posted in garden writing, personal essays, photo essay | Tagged rain, spring, storms | 16 Comments »